Behind the Mask
by Mockingjay500
Summary: Effie Trinket; vapid, away with the fairies, oblivious to the real world. Let them think it. I play my part well. But that's all it is: just an act. Set during Catching Fire, Effie's pov on the events leading up to the Quarter Quell. Is she as clueless about the rebellion as everyone seems to think, or is that just her way of coping?


_A/N: Not going to say this is my first Hunger Games FF because I have another one I'm working on which is a longer one but this little one-shot popped into my head whilst at uni this morning and I couldn't leave it! Hope you enjoy! Also, implied Hayffie at some point but can be read on a surface level as friendship if you're one of the crazy people who doesn't ship them ;)_

I'm not an idiot. I know what people think about me. Effie Trinket; vapid, away with the fairies, oblivious to the real world.

Let them think it. I play my part well. But that's all it is: just an act.

It never used to be. When I first started as an escort, I suppose that really was me. I had been brought up in the Capitol after all, so what reason did I have to not be that way? The Hunger Games were a part of my life growing up, as they are for every Capitol citizen. I would eagerly await the Tribute Parade, wanting to see the beautiful, intricate designs the stylists created. I would watch the interviews whilst judging the tributes and, as I grew older, debating with the people around me on who would come out that year's victor. Then came the grand event itself: The Hunger Games. I remember the days when I would make a fuss about going to bed, because I didn't want to miss a single moment of them.

The Victory Tour, held six months after the end of the Games, was another exciting event on the calendar of every Capitolite. We would watch the footage as the victor made their way through each of the twelve Districts before they finally arrived back in the Capitol for the Grand Celebration: a night filled with food, music and dancing.

It was why I had wanted to become an escort when I grew up. As soon as I was old enough, I applied for the training so that I would be ready when a position became available. I learnt how to keep the people around me to a strict schedule, always making sure to leave enough time in case of unexpected delays. I learnt how to walk, talk, dress and behave like an escort.

I wasn't surprised when the role I finally landed, after years of training and waiting, was for the escort of District 12. New escorts always started with District 12; available roles in other Districts were for promotion only. The thing was, District 12 was seen as the least glamorous of the Districts, and the last time they had a victor was at the 50th Hunger Games. That was another reason the new escorts always got stuck with them: Haymitch Abernathy. The infamous, intolerable drunkard of District 12. Why he chose to spend all his money on liquor I would never understand. Or, at least I thought I would never understand.

The first few years were, as I had hoped, exciting. True, there was never a victor from 12, but as an escort I still got to be involved with the glamorous events that came with the Games. It was the 69th Hunger Games when things changed. For the first time since I had been escort, two frightened twelve year olds were reaped. I could hear them on the train that first night, sobbing relentlessly, and I could not help but feel guilty; it was by my hand that their names had been picked from the reaping balls.

They continued to weep at night whilst we stayed at the Training Center, and I was woken at least once each night by their terrified screams as they suffered nightmares, or their desperate calls for their mothers. That was, when I managed to block out the crying enough to get to sleep in the first place.

Over those few days, I began to understand Haymitch Abernathy. The drinking was not something he did for pleasure, but something he did to distance himself from reality. It blocked out what was really happening, and numbed his emotions. Of course, I would never stoop so low as to drink myself into oblivion the way he did, and I frequently chastised him for the habit, but I at least understood why he did it.

My way of coping was to go on as I always had. Shoulders back. Chin up. Smile on. The makeup I wore every day was no longer my only mask; I now hid behind the laughter and smiles expected of a Capitolite.

The Games were no longer the glamorous event they had been all my life. I had been harshly awoken to the dark, twisted nature of them. I wouldn't say anything, though. I wouldn't let the hatred I now felt for President Snow and the Gamemakers show in my eyes. I wouldn't let the sorrow for each tribute I reaped and watched die be known to those around me. To them, I was still the same old Effie.

To them, I still am the same old Effie. The 75th Hunger Games are upon us. The third Quarter Quell. Excitement was at an all time high in the Capitol and the career Districts, for the Quarter Quells, held every twenty-five years, were the Ultimate Hunger Games. The first Quarter Quell, they had made each District vote on the tributes who would represent them, as a reminder that it was due to the choices made by the rebels that their children were dying. The second Quarter Quell, they had sent twice as many tributes into the arena, to represent that two rebel children died for every Capitol citizen. That had been the year Haymitch won. This year, they have decreed that the tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors, to remind the rebels that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol.

I cannot begin to describe how I felt after hearing President Snow make the announcement. I brought two victors home only last year; Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. That brought the total victors of District 12 to three. Katniss was guaranteed to go back in, and I knew that Peeta would volunteer should Haymitch's name be drawn, and vice versa.

This was too much of a coincidence to have been something decided by the creators of the Games seventy-five years ago. It was too appropriate that, just as the idea of rebellion hung in the air. There was little doubt in my mind that President Snow had set this up. He needed Katniss out of the picture, and killing her directly would spark of exactly what he wanted to avoid.

Katniss had, he believed, defied the Capitol in last year's Hunger Games. Half-way through, there had been a rule change stating that two victors could be crowned if they came from the same District, no doubt inspired by the star-crossed lovers act Haymitch had devised for Peeta and Katniss. Then, just when they thought they had won, the rule was revoked. It was gripping viewing for the Capitolites: which of these star-crossed lovers would kill the other? Katniss, however, had saved some nightlock berries they had found earlier. Deadly poisonous, they would kill the eater in a minute. Just as it looked as though they would both die, the rule was reinstated and both tributes were crowned.

Now, President Snow needed to get rid of them. The trick with the berries had been the last, desperate act of two hopeless romantics to the Capitolites, but to those in the Districts it was an act of defiance. I wasn't sure of all the details, but I knew that fighting had broken out in several of the Districts.

I also knew that the Victory Tour was unlike any others. I remember clearly our arrival at District 11, where eight Peacekeepers directed us into an armoured truck. Though I had never been on a Victory Tour before, I knew this was all wrong. I made some flippant remark about how you would think we were all criminals, the sort of comment people had come to expect from ignorant Effie. The real Effie, however, knew what was going on. I knew that this was all because of Katniss and the berries. True, Peeta had played his part too, but the idea had been Katniss'. She was the one who now symbolised hope and rebellion for the Districts, and trouble for President Snow.

I still remember the beautiful speeches Peeta and Katniss made at District 11 that day. Peeta, offering up a month's worth of his and Katniss' winnings to the families of the tributes who had competed with them, Thresh and Rue, and Katniss' emotional thanks to the families whose children had both helped her survive the arena. I remember the screens going black, and a gunshot. Haymitch mentioned it and I, in true Effie style, denied it. I was just relieved to see Katniss and Peeta walk in. I'm still not exactly sure what happened out there, but what I do know is that they stuck to the scripted speeches provided by the Capitol for the rest of the tour.

And now, they are to go back into the arena. It's all too perfect for the current situation.

I couldn't stand the reaping this year. It was obvious that Katniss was going back into the arena as the only female tribute from District 12, but I still had to perform the ritual and pull the lone piece of paper from the reaping ball. Then I pulled Haymitch's name from the second reaping ball, and no sooner were the words out of my mouth than Peeta had volunteered in his place.

Haymitch still came with us to the Capitol, acting once again as mentor. I knew it would be hard for him; after so many years, he had grown close to several of the other victors. They all knew the painful existence after the Games, and mutual understanding had evolved into friendship. Mags, the District 4 victor of one of the first Hunger Games, and Chaff, the District 11 victor of the 45th Hunger Games, I knew were especially close to him.

We took our usual seats for the Tribute Parade, watching the twelve chariots come down into the city circle. I noticed how several of the stylists had attempted to mimic Cinna and Portia's illuminations from last year. It worked for some of them; the tributes from District 3, known for producing electronics, were dressed in electric-light-studded outfits, but for others it was laughable - the cows with flaming belts from the livestock District 10, for example. And yet, despite all this, Cinna and Portia still managed to make sure all eyes were on the tributes from District 12. I'm sure that everyone watching was mesmerised by the way the outfits really did look like glowing embers from a fireplace. We truly were blessed with the most fantastic, talented stylists.

Haymitch went to meet Katniss and Peeta back in the training center whilst I spoke with a few of the other escorts before meeting up with him by the elevators. Seeing as District 12 always stays on the top floor, we had quite a long ride up in which to discuss Peeta and Katniss and their appearance in the Tribute Parade. We agreed they had looked simply magnificent, and that their cold, unforgiving stares were perfect for expressing the sentiment shared by mentors and tributes alike: these Games were not right. Their entrance was perfect for another reason, too. It made them seem powerful, no longer the giddy children they had been last year, and that was exactly the right way for them to gain sponsors this year.

The training this year was especially important. Last year, Haymitch had advised they keep their talents hidden to surprise the other tributes in the arena. This year, their talents were already known and so he told them to show them off to the best of their ability and make friends with the others, in the hope that they would be able to ally with some of them. Katniss seemed reluctant, but surprisingly she did as asked and, by the end of the first day, Haymitch had been approached by mentors from nearly half of the Districts requesting Katniss as an ally. According to Peeta, Katniss had put on quite the demonstration of her skills with a bow and arrow. Things seemed to be going well.

That is, until the day before yesterday. The private training sessions. As usual, Haymitch and I had to wait until Katniss and Peeta returned to find out what they had shown the Gamemakers, and then longer still as the sessions seemed to be taking more time than usual and Haymitch had to leave - apparently he had arranged to meet some of his old friends in the bar for one last round of drinks. It wasn't until dinner we finally discovered what they had done, and I really wish they hadn't.

Peeta had painted a picture of Rue, the little girl from District 11 who had briefly allied with Katniss last year. That wasn't the worst of it, though. Not only had he painted her, but he had painted her as she had looked after Katniss had covered her in flowers; the first sign of rebellion. I couldn't believe he had been so foolish.

But Katniss... oh, she was more foolish even than Peeta. She had been practicing knot-tying with a little help from Finnick Odair, District 4's victor of the 65th Hunger Games, and in her private session had decided to create a noose and hang a dummy. That would have been fine, if not particularly impressive. But no; Katniss had to go for maximum impact. She just had to paint Seneca Crane's name on that dummy. I was shocked when she told us; not just at what she had done, but by the realisation that she knew Seneca had been killed. I don't know if she said much more on the matter, for I had promptly risen from the table and left. Probably they thought I had been upset, which was partly true, but the main reason I left was that I was struggling to keep my composure. Everything was just too much. Katniss and Peeta setting themselves up as prime targets for the Gamemakers, the rebellion, Seneca Crane, the Quell...

I found myself on the roof of the Training Center. I had only been up there once before, yet I remembered the peace it had brought and knew I needed to be there to clear my head. I took a seat on one of the benches in the garden area, breathing deeply and closing my eyes. It was as close to bliss as anything could be these days.

"They both scored twelve."  
The familiar voice behind me caused me to open my eyes and glance round, sighing at the bad news he brought. Haymitch came round to sit next to me, and we stayed there in silence for quite some time. It was no more coincidence that they had both scored a twelve than it was that they were in these Games in the first place. The Gamemakers had ensured that they would both be targeted by the other tributes.  
"What's going to happen now?" I asked softly, not even realising I had spoken the words until I heard Haymitch's equally soft reply.  
"We just have to wait."  
A small, sad smile appeared at my lips for a second, before I sighed it away and subconsciously dropped my head to Haymitch's shoulder. I felt him stiffen slightly, and I made to move my head, but then his arm snaked around my back to rest by my waist. In that moment, I realised something important: after so many years of working together, despite our differences and our arguments, Haymitch and I have come to need each other.

I remember the comfort our embrace had brought me as I sit here, waiting for the final interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Haymitch is sat beside me, with Cinna on his other side and Portia next to him. He is sat as stoic as ever, just as I sit as prim as I always do. But when our eyes meet for the most fleeting of moments, there is a softness in them that I have never seen before, and I feel it reflected in my own eyes. Our relationship definitely changed the other night, although in what way I am not quite sure.

We haven't seen Katniss or Peeta properly since the day of their private sessions with the Gamemakers. Haymitch and I agreed that they were able to handle themselves appropriately enough in public, having only recently done their Victory Tour, and so we let them have a day off. I think it was needed by all of us; I know I certainly couldn't bear to be with them all day, getting closer to them and knowing I was preparing them for their deaths, and I'm sure Haymitch feels the same way, although of course he would never say as much. We saw them in the elevator on the way down here, but no one was really in the mood for talking. In all honesty, I think the sight of them in their interview outfits may have rendered my unable to speak anyway.

Peeta looked handsome in a tuxedo and white gloves. A typical Capitol groom.

Katniss was simply breathtaking. Cinna told Haymitch and I yesterday that President Snow had ordered she wear the wedding dress the public voted for on stage, something I was not best pleased about, but was powerless to change. I had seen her in the dress already, of course, when I spent the day with her in District 12 for a photo shoot where she tried on the original six dresses Cinna had designed for her. Yet, despite this, I was still in awe of how much she looked the part of the perfect bride.

Caesar Flickerman has just taken to the stage to make his opening speech. I tune him out and look instead at the victors sitting on the stage, feeling my throat tighten as I took in the familiar faces. I might not have spent much time with any of them over the last few years, but they've always been around. It's not right.

Cashmere, from District 1, is the first tribute called forwards to speak to Caesar, and she is in tears as she says how much everyone is going to miss them all. Her brother, Gloss, comes next, recalling the kindness everyone in the Capitol has shown them since they won. District 2's Enobaria and Brutus are next, clearly as annoyed at the Quell as the rest of the tributes. Beetee, the male tribute from District 3, even goes so far as to question the legality of it all. Johanna Mason from District 7 muses that the creators must not have expected such love to form between the Capitolites and their victors. Seeder, a District 11 victor, queries why, if President Snow is all-powerful, the Quell cannot be stopped and is followed immediately by her District partner, Chaff, who insists that President Snow could stop the Quell but just does not think it matters to anyone.

The audience is already a mess by the time Katniss is called forwards, and the sight of her in her wedding gown almost causes a riot. All around, people are weeping and calling for the Games to be changed. I glance at Haymitch. I know he has been insisting Katniss and Peeta don't do anything to encourage the rebellion, but if ever there was a time for them to do just that then it's now. He doesn't look at me, but I can see from the way his eyes are fixed on Katniss that he is hoping she does not disappoint.

Caesar finally manages to start questioning Katniss, asking her if she has anything she wishes to say, and she plays her part perfectly, claiming that she is only sorry the wedding will not happen but that she is glad that everyone can see her beautiful dress. And then she is twirling. And she is, once again, the Girl on Fire. Only this time, the fire is not decorative. It is something much more real. As she twirls, the fire burns away at the white dress until, finally, she is left standing in a dress of coal black feathers. She raises her arms and what had been the sleeves of the dress are now two perfect wings. Cinna has turned her into a mockingjay.

I glance over at the stylist who has created such an incredible piece of work, and I bite my lip. He has done something extraordinary, but it will almost certainly cost him his life. President Snow will not ignore what has happened. The mockingjay, the bird found on Katniss' District token, has become the symbol of the rebellion, and Cinna has just put that symbol on a stage which, at this moment, has the eyes of everyone in Panem on it. He takes a bow as Caesar points him out to the crowd, and as he sits I can see in his eyes that he knows the risk he has taken. He knows the price of what he has done. But there is no fear there, only satisfaction. He will accept the consequences.

I turn back to the stage in time to see Katniss returning to her seat and Peeta stepping forwards. After a few moments of the banter he and Caesar always share, he plays his best card. This is the last attempt the tributes have of getting the Quell stopped and he knows it. He tells everyone that he and Katniss already married in secret, and that he would have no regrets about anything. That is, if it was not for the baby.

The reaction is instantaneous. The crowd explodes, with accusations of injustice, cruelty and barbarism being shouted from every person present. It is a testament to his wit that, with one simple line, he has a whole room full of Capitolites, people who have been raised to love the excitement of the Games, in uproar. I catch Haymitch's eye for the second time that evening and I can tell in a second that this was all Peeta's idea, yet Haymitch is pleased. Pleased that the boy managed to set off the bomb that the other tributes have been creating all evening. Cinna and Portia look our way, and for a moment an identical look of pride flickers across all our faces before we are looking back at the stage where Peeta has gone back to his seat, our masks of indifference painted on once more.

The Capitol anthem plays overhead, signalling the end of the interviews, and the tributes rise. Then, another amazing thing happens right before our eyes. For the first time in history, all twenty-four tributes join hands, a display of unity amongst the Districts. Moments later, the screens turn black and the lights on the stage are turned off. It's too late, though. The whole of Panem has seen, and I'll be shocked if this doesn't spur on the uprisings.

It's confusion as everyone leaves their seats. Many people are still crying out in protest, calling for the Games to be stopped. I wish I could believe it was a possibility, but I know it's not going to happen. Now, more than ever, President Snow will want the victors dead.

We finally file out into the hall and make out way to the elevators, and I feel Haymitch's hand grasp mine. Cinna and Portia are just ahead of us. Then, suddenly, I feel a pull at my other arm from behind me. Haymitch feels it too and swings round, his eyes dark as he sees the peacekeeper who has grabbed me.  
"You are to return home immediately." the Peacekeeper tells me, and a quick glance shows me that another Peacekeeper is giving the same orders to Cinna and Portia. I can't say I'm surprised. After everything that just happened, it would be more of a surprise if we were allowed to stay with our tributes tonight.

I look at Haymitch, who pulls me into a quick embrace for the second time in our years of working together. Things have definitely changed this year!  
"Stay safe." he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.  
"You too." I feel my breath hitch. He knows something. Something he's not telling me. I want to know, but I trust that he would only keep it from me if knowing put me in danger.

The Peacekeeper is pulling me away now, and I am caught up by Cinna and Portia. All three of us are escorted from the building before we are finally left alone. There's no chance of us getting back inside; Peacekeepers are now guarding every entrance. We walk a little further together before we stop and turn to each other, falling into one embrace. I know that this is the last time I will see Cinna. After he prepares Katniss tomorrow morning, he will be of no use to President Snow. Portia... I don't know what will happen to her, but I know that none of us are safe anymore.

The world is changing, and I can only hope it changes for the better.

And I hope I am there when Snow takes his last breath.


End file.
